


Be Perfumed by Thee

by Corycides



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Bondage, Kink Meme, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:45:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel finally has the Chosen One under his control, but now what is he going to do with him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Perfumed by Thee

When the new thing first stood and spoke and shivered, they had pitied it. The serried ranks of angels, from archangel to cherub, had looked on this new thing - not content in its simplicity like the beasts, not ephemeral like an angel - and wondered why God had made it so. Surely such a that could never be  content.

They were right.

It whined, it wailed, it - to use a word that Gabriel would not know until millennia later -  bitched . It was lonely, it was hungry, its stupid pink feet chafed on the hard ground and its stupid pink skin blistered under the kiss of the sun. 

No angel had ever known loneliness or pain, and they preened in the heady regard of Father, who must love them best. 

Yet He coddled the new thing. He named it - not as he had categorised the world, sieving it out into this rock and that, but as he had named his angels - and he made another to bear it company, and to bear it...children

That was a gift He had never given to his first-born children, to his angels. They were sterile as mules, empty of endocrine systems and spunk. No child would call Gabriel papa, no infant would grow in Uriel’s belly (for which, Gabriel was compelled to admit, she was likely grateful), but this whining  thing  that shit out its innards when it ate berries,  this  was given generative powers? This could make new things?

Gabriel said then that it would all end in tears and blood, and hadn’t he been right? Humanity had crawled and fucked and shit their way across Father’s greatest creation, until even He couldn’t even bear to look at it, at them.

After one - last - gift to the mewling lemurs, but hadn’t they gained enough already?

The Chosen One hung in the middle of Gabriel’s throne room, stripped to his skin, hooded like a falcon and dangling from ropes looped around his wrists. The stretch of his body turned his muscles to new geometry under his skin, the liquid flow of symbols finding new paths across the twists and lines of him..

It was beautiful, even wrought on the imperfect, scarred and stained skin of a human, like a angel-song pinned down in ink. Every symbol flowed together with elegant, visual grace, rrouting around bruises and fresh scars so none of the meaning was lost, not even for a moment. It was yoke of meaning and will that harnessed this boy to his fate - and it meant nothing to Gabriel. 

Angels had no script, had no need of it. There were no letters in their language, nothing as crass as flesh and air anchoring meaning, and even Michael couldn’t have rendered their language down into the dull embrace of linguistics in a scant quarter century. The only text they even needed was the Word of God, and apparently he spoke no more to the angelic.

Michael had sworn to it, but what good was his word these days? The stench of the human soul clung to his once-brother like a whore's perfume, a sicky blend strong on sin and weak on virtue. What could Metatron have to say to him. Gabriel had imagined that once he saw the Chosen One, the words would - as they once had - resolve themselves into meaning.

So now what was he do? Peel the boy's skin off in layers and bind him a book of nighttime stories? Spin him in front of a candle and try to read the shadows on the wall? The plan had always been for the boy to come WILLING, but events had side-stepped that.

He paced around the dangling creature, boots scuffing against the stone floor with each step. The hooded head twitched, mapping Gabriel’s position by the echos. For a Chosen One, this boy was an underachiever. No halo of spirit over-flowing skin, no beatific acceptance and as for turning the other cheek… He’d killed three 8-balls before Furiad had brought him down.

‘What am I to do with you, hmm?’ Gabriel asked, poking a finger into the Chosen One’s gut to make him swing.

The answer was muffled by gag and hood. Gabriel removed both. Who would hear him scream here and come to his aid? Blue eyes - he remembered those, although the sins of mortality had muddled the clarity of the babe - squinted at him. The Chosen One coughed, tongue licking at split, dried lips.

‘Let me go?’ he suggested, voice cracking with thirst.

Gabriel chuckled. ‘Eventually,’ he said and gave the boy a shove to watch him swing. Bare feet scrabbled at the floor, toes digging into the concrete, as the Chosen One tried to stop. ‘Although considering you weren’t invited, perhaps you should be thankful my hospitality is so generous?’

‘Fuck you.’

Apparently the Chosen One spat. Delightful.

Gabriel wiped his hand over his face, flicking spit off his fingers disdainfully. His mouth twisted into a grim little smile. ‘Michael should have taught you better manners, Chosen,’ he said. Idly, he reached out and touched the lines of ink dappling the hard stomach. ‘How do you bear it, brother? With its secretions and gross functions.’

‘I’m not your brother,’ the Chosen One rasped.

No. No, he wasn’t. What he was? Well that was a bit of information that Gabriel held dear to his heart, a secret not to wasted on a petty mood.

‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ was all he said. Energy fluttered against his fingers, a kiss of angelic essence almost lost under the heavy shield of flesh. No words. No message. Metatron lay as silent as Father. A snarl twisted Gabriel's mouth - the thought of fangs filling his mouth - and he turned away. 'I'm talking to no-one.'

He turned and stalked away, grabbing a bottle of wine from the table and wrenching the cork out. It was sour and sweet on his tongue, toxins scratching their way through his blood to his brain. 

‘You’re Gabriel,’ the Chosen said. ‘You killed my mother.’

‘Prepare to die?’ Gabriel asked, turning around. The blank amused him. He knew their pop culture better than the humans themselves did. The Chosen One’s eyes flickered around the room and his hands clenched, ropes straining as his weight shifted.

‘Michael won’t fall for it,’ he said. ‘Your trap won’t work. He doesn’t care what happens to me.’

It was a lie, but it had the ring of truth. Forget dogs. Self-deception was a human’s best friend. 

‘You’re the Chosen One,’ Gabriel said, tossing back another slug of wine. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand and smiled expansively, throwing his arms out. ‘We all care what happens to you...and your skin.’

The laugh surprised him, barking out of the Chosen One’s chest. ‘Because of God’s post-it notes on me? Most of the time I can’t read them and when I can? They make no sense until later.’

Gabriel shrugged and drank. ‘Be fair, Chosen, humanity was always the slow one in the family.’

‘Michael doesn’t understand them,’ the Chosen said, spitting the words out like they meant he’d won. 

‘Is that what he told you?’

Blue eyes narrowed, heavy brows drawing down. Doubt flickered and was banished by an act of will. ‘You’re a liar.’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen. We all care about you.’

‘You care about killing me.’

Gabriel circled him again, stopping behind him and pressing a hand to the man’s back. Long, muscled fingers explored the anatomy of the wingless, finding where the muscles anchored differently under the skin. The dense bone of them. Angels wore human bodies, but even archangel’s made improvements. They flew by will, but it was still easier without lugging all that calcium around. They ran hotter than humans too - although they had no reason for that. The Chosen One’s skin felt cool against Gabriel’s curious hand, almost chilled.

‘Are you not cold?’ he asked, tracing a curl of Metatron down the line of the Chosen’s spine. It felt like feathers not ink, he realised. Tiny as a neonate’s pins and flat to the skin.

The Chosen One tensed, a hard breath pushing his shoulder-blade into Gabriel’s hand. ‘I could do with a pair of pants.’

Gabriel leaned against the Chosen’s back, a hand on his hip stopping him swinging, and looked over his shoulder. His cock curled up from his thigh, thickening with the pulse of blood. Gabriel laughed and turned his head to brush his lips over the Chosen’s throat. ‘And here I thought you didn’t like me.’

‘You killed my mother; you killed my  father,’  the Chosen said raggedly. ‘You’re the monster under humanity’s bed. I hate you.’

Gabriel slid a hand down to the Chosen’s hip. ‘Fair enough. I’m the monster and Michael’s your savior in shining feathers, right? The only thing is, Michael’s not going to fuck you is he?’

A taut silence, shivering in the air like a plucked wire. Under Gabriel’s fingers, against his skin, Metatron moved in silent agitation. Gabriel pressed a closed lip kiss to a knot of symbols riding the Chosen’s shoulder. 

‘You don’t have to ask,’ he said. ‘Just...don’t say no.’

A shuddering breath escaped the Chosen and caught, caged behind his teeth. Tension vibrated under his skin, a trembling energy.

The boy was another of Father’s new things, Gabriel thought. An echo of that old pity touched him. New and unsure, not one thing nor the other. Maybe once he knew the truth, it would make more sense to him.

He spread his hand over the Chosen’s stomach, palm against the bruised ridge of muscle. The Chosen grimaced, lips tight over his teeth, but he didn’t say no. Gabriel pulled him back so his hard cock was pressed against The Chosen’s bare ass. It coaxed a rough noise from the back of the boy’s throat, the noise repeated with a desperate edge as Gabriel wrapped his hand around his cock. 

It was hard, bone under silk, and spiraled with an etchery of symbols. Had they been there before? Or was Metatron trying to protect him...or seeing more contact with Gabriel? Angels had never been lonely, until they caught it from the human bodies they inhabited. The straps of the tefillin scraped along the Chosen’s dick as he stroked the soft lines of Metatron’s embodiment.

He unfurled his wings, a whisper of feathers and myrrh, and wrapped them around them both. They shed heat, a cocoon of sweetened air. Gabriel kissed patterns along his throat and spine, lips and tongue and teeth exploring the contrast of ink and skin. All  the while one hand twisted along the Chosen’s cock, fingers squeezing tight enough to make it bulge and then barely touching, and the other gripped his hip to hold him still.

The Chosen’s fingers wrapped around the rope, nails digging into the weave, and he shifted his weight, trying to keep his precarious balance.

‘All you have to do is say no,’ Gabriel cozened, his hair tickling the nape of the Chosen’s neck as he explored the spray of thought across his collarbone. ‘If you don’t want this, want me.’

The Chosen made a ragged noise. ‘Like you’d listen?’

Gabriel turned him around - using his cock as a handle, because really God had not had dignity in mind for his youngest creations - and smiled at him. ‘I always listen,’ he said. ‘The angels hear your prayers, Chosen. Every nasty thought, every selfish gimme, every petty little bargain you try and strike with us. We just don’t care to answer usually. Today I will abide. This once.’

He tightened his wings, pulling the Chosen closer so his cock pressed against Gabriel’s through a thin shield of leather. The Chosen one clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t say ‘no’. 

‘Just fuck me,’ he rasped bitterly.

There. His own decision. Not that he’d been the one Gabriel was talking to in the first place.

Fucking humans was Michael’s perversion. Gabriel wasn’t interested in the boy’s ass, just his skin.

The tips of his wings stroked the Chosen One’s back and sides, hot wires of pleasure jerking tight in Gabriel’s spine and balls as his feathers brushed against skin and Metatron. All his brother had to do was say no, to speak in the voice that was his alone. In fire and light and knowledge.

Instead he lay silent on the Chosen One’s skin. Gabriel bit his way down the slope of stomach, pinching the breath of Metatron between his teeth. The Chosen One hissed and gasped, arching into the small pain, and Metatron twisted with heat. 

Even Michael had his angelic brothers near him, his infrequent meetings with Gabriel. All Metatron had, for all that time, was a human who’d never been that impressive to start with.

‘Michael abandoned you,’ he said.

‘No,’ the Chosen One rasped. Perhaps he spoke for them both. Gabriel still heard the lie, trembling like blood under the skin. The doubt. He smiled as he wrapped his mouth around the Chosen’s cock, lips and tongue and the drag of sharp teeth. He laved the length of it with his attention, hands kneading the clenched hard muscles of the Chosen’s thighs. 

He lifted them over his shoulders, heels pressing into the tender spot between his wings and Chosen’s weight completely on him. 

The Chosen rocked his hips and swore, damning himself and Gabriel in crude terms. His cock slid over Gabriel’s tongue and pulled from his lips, wet and slick with spit. When he come tasted like myrrh and salt, spilling out of him with a human’s scream and mute energy of an angel’s benediction.

Sitting back on his heels Gabriel licked his lips and looked up. His eyes lingered on the soft lines of Metatron then flicked up to The Chosen’s soft, dazed blue.

‘Now, we have a secret,’ he said. 


End file.
